George Rahn was the long time BMW dealer in Fairbanks. Not sure when he started out, but he was well established by the mid 70's when I moved here. His shop was an old barn and a collection of sheds behind his house on a side street off College Rd. The only indication it was there was an old, faded BMW sign.
In summer or winter, you'd see him putting around town on his R50 with it's flatbed sidecar. But George was a character with a heart of gold. He'd open the shop night or day to help out the BMW riders who passed through Fairbanks every summer to supply a needed part, fix a broken motor, or change a worn tire. But if you walked into his shop and said or did something he didn't like, he'd rip you a new one and send you on your way. I know cause I was on the receiving end once and kept my thoughts to myself after that.
When he got to be near 80, he had slowed down a bit, and while he'd taken on selling Royal Enfield, he decided to sell the BMW dealership to the local Harley dealer. Now the Farthest North Harley Outpost, as it was called, was originally run by a character almost as idiosyncratic as George. But when he died, his son sold the dealership to a group of local businessmen, They moved it from a small back door shop to a huge new showroom. They added Polaris and then BMW to the growing business.
So a few years after that, George had a stroke, then went downhill pretty fast. The last time I saw him was at the old College coffee shop. He didn't remember me at first, but when we got to talking, he warmed up when I mentioned the wife's Enfield, George liked the ladies, so then he remembered who I was. I said I'd stop by the shop when I was leaving, but his lady friend pulled me aside and told me no, not for awhile yet, he needed to get to feeling better. Well that didn't happen, the next time I heard about George was seeing his obit in the paper.
So then the Harley shop announced it was holding a wake for George in conjunction with the local BMW Airheads group. Now I wasn't too involved with either one, but I knew George since my wife had a bought an Enfield from him, so figured we'd both go. I called a couple of friends for moral support and we all headed over to the wake. On the way, the clutch cable on the T started to go, it was holding on by just a couple of strands, so diverted to my friend John's house and he let me take his '03 Stone.
When we got there, the place was packed, there must have been over 50 bikes, they even had guys out in the parking lot directing traffic. When we got inside, I saw a lot people who I hadn't seen in years, it was a bittersweet reunion, for sure. People were getting up telling stories about George, it went on for quite a while, until pretty much what was said was done and people started to leave.
So we went out a side door to the parking lot, saying our goodbyes to a bunch of people, when two "Men in Black" came out and hopped on a pair of Harleys they'd parked right by the door. Giving us the "stink eye" look, they fired up their Harleys and the noise was incredible. Straight pipes blasting into the side of the building and echoing into the parking lot, I remember taking a step or two back as the cacophony overwhelmed us. They sat there for what seemed like an eternity, revving their unmuffled motors, maybe they lacked proper chokes? IDN, but after several minutes and few more stink eye looks, they roared away. I think I said something like "well that was something" to the guy standing next to me, but he just shrugged, as if to say, "well what do you expect? " So that was George's final send off, getting bleeped by a couple of dirt bags.
George in happier times; after he sold the BMW dealership, he rode a Royal Enfield Bullet hitched to a Cozy Rocket sidecar. I'm sure his dog appreciated the comfort! (photo: newsminer.com)
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